


Andruil's Pine

by SaintVier



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 16:35:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8453701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaintVier/pseuds/SaintVier
Summary: The darkspawn sneak attack on camp, and subsequent events.





	

“Ah, my dear warden, what pleasure it brings me to see you alive and fully intact.” Zevran stands up from where he is crouched by the fire pit, a wide, wicked grin spread across his tanned face. “I was beginning to think you decided to leave me for some hard, muscled farmer in Redcliffe. Not that I would necessarily be against that of course, but your dog, on the other hand, may be devastated--”

Said dog suddenly barrels towards me, a mad gleam in his beady eyes and his tongue wildly slobbering in a manner vaguely reminiscent of that of the particularly unhygienic hurlock we had encountered on our way back. The force of his barrel body knocks me to the ground, and I am suddenly enveloped in his full, manic, slobbering glory. I laugh breathlessly as he excitedly coats the entirety of my face with drool, punishing me for deserting him for so long.

“You look happier to see him than you do any of us,” Leliana laughs. “It’s good you’re finally back, your dog has been heartbroken. Ah, if only the rest of us could know love so deep and true as a man and his hound…”

“Tree face, you’re back!” Oghren stumbles out of his tent. “This calls for--ow, fucking nugshit--” he tripped on a bedroll-- “celebration!” He procures a sizable wineskin from his belt. “Drinks, anyone?”

“Dear Oghren, I’m certain if the Warden wishes to poison himself and die a slow, painful death, he will simply ask Zevran, rather than imbibe your fermented hurlock excretion,” Morrigan drawls, pausing on her way to her secluded tent. I have to agree with her there. I had been unfortunate/desperate enough to be graced with one of Oghren’s rather... unique brews back in the Deep Roads, and I believe it was both more horrible tasting and harmful to my mental health than darkspawn blood I drank in my joining.

Dog realizes that his meticulous cleansing of my face may indicate affection towards me, and instead now sits on my legs with an accusing glare.

“What, you can’t kill all of the darkspawn yourself. You have to let Alistair pretend he’s useful too, sometimes.” Dog barks in my face petulantly.

Sten approaches, nodding at me by way of greeting, and beckons Dog with a brisk hand gesture. Dog snorts at me, removes himself from my legs, and haughtily trots after Sten. I brush myself off, wipe some drool off my face, and make my way to my feet with a groan. I swear, being tackled by that dog is like being tackled by an ogre, and I’ve now had the extreme misfortune of experiencing both. The campsite is now bustling with noise, embers from the fire pit making their way mildy into the dusk sky. I survey my ragtag group of companions, relaying tales and bantering. Slaughtering hordes of darkspawn and wooing hordes of blushing maidens is fun and all, but nothing quite beats the odd joyfulness of a campsite full of my friends. My thoughts are interrupted by a pair of warm, sun-brown arms encircling my shoulders from behind.

“Ah, mi amor, the days have been long in your absence. I look forward to ravishing you later this night.” Zevran presses his lips to the hollow behind my ear, the warm flush traveling down my body reminding me of all that I’ve been missing the past few weeks.

“You certainly know how to make a man feel appreciated,” I murmur. “Ignore the hordes of darkspawn I slayed, the peasants I rescued, my heroic body is after all the only thing that matters.”

“Darkspawn are boring. So noisy, slimy--no fun. You, on the other hand, are a treasure.” His voice is low in my ear, his hand languidly sliding down my side to caress my leather-encased hip. Tonight suddenly can’t come fast enough.

“Oi, Blondie, quit molesting Tree face and get your nug-humping arses over here! It’s dinner time!”

Zevran chuckles and smoothly extricates himself from my body, sauntering over to the campfire and glancing slyly over his shoulder with a decidedly impure expression. That man will be the death of me, if not by assassination then certainly by his wicked, gorgeous glances. With a slightly exasperated and slightly flustered and overall happy sigh, I follow him to the delicious stew Wynne had prepared, and immerse myself in the cheerful noise and bustle of my companions.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was the noise that first warned us. A piercing, screeching, brain-boiling _shriek_ , surrounding the camp and piercing its way into my skull, closely followed by Dog’s urgent barking and Alistair’s panicked yells--

“Darkspawn! Darkspawn! A whole herd of blasted shrieks!”

There was barely time to get up from where I reclined on Zevran’s side, certainly no time to make any measure of preparation, and then the shrieks were upon us.

I scramble across the ground, scrabbling for my sword as sounds of fighting grow around me. I grasp it just in time to raise it to the face of a snarling shriek, narrowly ducking under a slash of its talons and slicing at its filthy legs. A horrible wail comes out of its blackened maw and it lunges at me, claws grating against my breastplate and forcing me to the ground. Its full weight is on me, claws scrabbling for gaps in my armor and snapping madly at my face, overwhelming me with its rancid breath as I barely manage to keep it from ripping my head off. I can’t reach my sword, so I wrestle the monster and attempt to pin its talons down and argh one of its claws gouges into my bicep, and then--

 _Schlick_. A well placed arrow from Leliana penetrates the shriek’s temple and it stills. I clasp my hand to my bleeding arm and survey the battlefield. The shrieks have descended upon the camp, about ten of them, and my companions are scattered and struggling. _Delltash_ , I knew it was unwise to let our guard down, even for a moment. _In peace, vigilance…_

A shriek advances on Leliana, so I rush over to help her and her steady stream of arrows.

“Thanks back there!” I shout, swiping at the monster. It evades my blow and gnashes its fangs.

“My pleasure, Warden!” Leliana yells back, looking a bit too happy about our current situation, if her bloodthirsty grin is anything to go by. The shriek is upon us now, and Leliana swiftly discards her bow and pulls out a dagger. “I suppose violence is a solution...sometimes!” She then proceeds to tear into the shriek with a series of swift and deadly lacerations, darting in and out of the monster’s reach faster than it can flail its bewildered talons. With some help from me that she probably had no need of, she kills it. It sadly twitches on the ground and Leliana flashes a beaming smile at me, which I can't help but return. Even in our totally unprepared, slightly drunken state, our group is more than a match for a couple of particularly vicious and angry darkspawn. Across the camp, Oghren is swinging his greataxe with crazed, gleeful abandon, his face nearly as red as his swinging beard braids. Extreme drunkenness seems to be working in his favor, with his berserk, raging fighting technique. Dog is near him, covered in blood and slime but proudly prancing on top of a dead shriek. There is still a large group of the monsters surrounding Alistair, Wynne, and Morrigan, so I rush over to help. I hone in on one in the back of the group that looks smaller than the rest, an easy target. On second glance… that’s no shriek, that’s a ghoul. Odd to see a ghoul amidst a group of shrieks, the poor demented monsters usually travel alone. I run up behind it--Is that Dalish armor?--deliver a swift overhead cut, but it dodges, turns around, and--

“... _Tamlen_?”  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
“You...lethallin. _"_

Oh gods no. It can’t be. Purple, oozing sores eating most of the skin, the rest of the flesh bone white and peeling. No hair, save for a few stringy yellow locks clinging to his festering scalp. And worst of all is the voice-a harsh, cracking, agonized mockery of my friend’s old lighthearted lilt. I feel sick. “Don’t...don’t come near me. Stay away!” His entire body spasms, and he staggers away.

I stare at his retreating figure in shock. “No, wait! Tamlen!” I run after him, easily catching up to his limping gait.

“Don’t...look at me. I am...sick.” His eyes, the only recognizable part of him, are tormented, their pale blue fixated on my own.

“Fenharel’s teeth, Tamlen, what happened?” The mirror had clearly given him the taint. How long had he been wandering, alone with no company but the slow, diseased deterioration of his mind and body?

“No help...no help...for me. The song...in my head. It...calls to me. He sings to me. I can’t stop it!” His voice cracks, and for a moment he almost sounds like my adventurous friend. “Don’t want...to hurt you, lethallin. Please...stop me.” Stop him? _Delltash_ , no, not after I just found you.

“I-no! I can help you, we can heal you, Tamlen!” My fault, all my fault. And he worries about hurting me? “You have to let me try.”

“Too far. You cannot help me. I’m...so sorry, lethallin. Never wanted this.”

Tamlen, lethallin, just wait here, I have a healer, we can help you-”

“KILL ME.” The last bit of self awareness in him snaps, and he lunges towards me with his rusted daggers. I try to calm him, to evade his blows, but he is screaming, his madness giving his withered body strength. I am vaguely aware of shouts across the camp, footsteps running towards us. He swipes at me viciously, feral and panting. I maneuver around him, grab for his flailing arms, but he knocks me aside with a sickening, raspy grunt. I cry out in frustration, put my sword up to defend myself, and--  
Schlick. He is impaled on my sword, through his filthy clan armor, straight through the middle of his ribcage. Even defeated, he lurches forward, scrabbling for my face with dirty fingernails as he impales himself an inch further. His eyes are pure madness, glaring rabidly as blood gurgles out of his mouth. And slowly, so excruciatingly slowly, the last bit of himself he had clung on to for however many months fades away, leaving a twitching, glaring, angry husk.

The now lifeless body crumples to the ground, taking my sword with it. I stare at my oldest friend, at the pool of blood rapidly growing by his filthy, mutilated body. I am vaguely aware of my companions gathered around me, smothering me in a haze of concerned, questioning voices.

“Theron, what happened? Did it injure you?”

“Are you alright? Who was that ghoul?”

“Nice one, boss, got ‘im right through the--fuck, what was that for, Leliana?”

Someone puts a hand on my shoulder and it’s too much, too overwhelming. Their worried faces close in, suffocate me, and suddenly I can’t breathe.

“Bleeding thorns, will you leave me alone?” I push them away, gasping, and stagger towards the woods. I have a job to do.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Blood rolls down my arm, making dark spiderweb patterns on my hand, as my wound pulses with each movement. I dig into the soil with my hands, steadily creating a hole in the earth. The trees of the forest loom over me, dark, menacing figures in the moonlight. I feel cold. Why am I here, again? Oh that’s right, I murdered my closest childhood friend and now I’m digging his grave. I remember always telling him I would be digging his grave someday, with his tendency to recklessly rush into dangerous situations. Funny how these things work out. I laugh to myself a little, watching my blood roll off my skin onto the soil in my hands. Did that really all come from me?

“Warden.” I jump, but don’t look up from my work. Curse Zevran and his silent assassin ways. Tamlen was the same; he once tracked a bear so silently he simply had to reach out and stab it in the head when he got so close he was practically riding it. I chuckle again. Tamlen would have enjoyed that little innuendo. I never had the same knack for sneaking as he did; the day we went to the caves together was the first time we had hunted together in years for that reason. And if I hadn’t gone with him that day? Would he never have come across that blasted mirror? Would we be home now, together and happy with the clan?

  
“Warden, you must have that gaping wound healed, unless you wish to pass out from blood loss, and we don’t want that, yes?” Zevran speaks in an irritatingly bright and cheery tone, referring to the talon gash on my shoulder. I ignore him. Tamlen needed healing, not me. Tamlen is the one who craved adventure, who always dreamed of being a hero. I never asked for this. Zevran pads closer and leans against a dark tree. “Please, Theron.” His voice is gentler now, as if he’s talking to a feral animal. “The ghoul, the Dalish one, he was your friend, yes? I am sure he would understand you stopping your grave digging to take care of yourself.” His voice is careful, deliberately calm, and my vision goes red with sudden anger.

“Oh, and you’re suddenly one to understand what Tamlen thinks? You, the Antivan Crow, a trained assassin? I know you don’t think twice about murdering your best friends, it’s all fun and games for you, but I, I--” I had stood up in my rage, but feel a sudden crashing wave of dizziness and fall. Zevran catches me and eases me onto the ground. The trees loom over the edges of my vision--Are they supposed to be waving around like that?-- mocking and menacing, and come to think of it I’m feeling a bit nauseous, and then the full, crushing weight of despair finally takes its plunge, stabbing me in the gut and twisting at my ribcage. And suddenly I can’t bear it, the cold, harsh emptiness, and Zevran pulls me into his arms and, _fuck_ , I’m crying into his shoulder. He says nothing, simply embracing me tightly and stroking my back as I shudder uncontrollably. I see death constantly, I kill countless others on a daily basis, yet nothing can compare to this cold, crushing weight of sorrow. The warmth of Zevran’s solid body is the only anchor keeping me together. He says nothing; he knows better than to fill the air with pointless words. Instead I feel him press his lips onto my head and stroke the nape of my neck, achingly gentle.

With a shudder, I gently remove his arms and pull my knees to my chest. We sit hip to hip in front of the incomplete grave. I wipe my face on my knees. “I’m sorry, Zev. I shouldn’t have said those things.” He takes my hand in his.

“Don’t worry yourself, my dear Warden. Who knows, I may very well murder all of you without a second thought one of these days. If the price is right, of course.” I can’t bring myself to smile, and instead stare at the grave, the cold blanket of loss only slightly breached by Zevran’s warmth. Zevran runs a gentle hand through my hair. “Come, Warden, let us return to camp.”

  
He helps me up, supporting me when I stagger. I definitely feel the effects of blood loss now, and Zevran wordlessly maneuvers himself so that I lean on him as we walk. We make our way back to camp.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
_“Hahren na melana sahlin_  
 _Emma ir abelas_  
 _Souver'inan isala hamin_  
 _Vhenan him dor'felas_  
 _In uthenera na revas_  
 _Vir sulahn'nehn_  
 _Vir dirthera_  
 _Vir samahl la numin_  
 _Vir lath sa'vunin.”_

The enigmatic melody of Leliana’s soprano voice seems to be absorbed and softened by the dense foliage surrounding us, as if the forest intends the song for our ears alone. It is a Dalish song, often sung at funerals, but Leliana sings it far more beautifully than my clansmen ever could. We are gathered in the forest clearing, surrounding the finished grave and Tamlen’s inert body beside it. Leliana’s song fades to an end, completing the tradition. I remove my hand from Zevran’s and move to kneel beside his body.

I clear my throat and say a few words in my native tongue, worthless in expressing any fraction of my true feelings. But I remind myself not to waste time mourning and to instead celebrate the continuation of life, as Keeper Marethari taught. So I bring my words to an end and simply press my hand on his breastplate, above his heart.  
“Ma serannas, lethallin.”

Then his body rises to hover slightly above the ground, wafts over to the grave as if guided by a gentle breeze, and is lowered into the earth, gentle as a feather. I look up in surprise and see Morrigan semi-concealed in the trees, gold eyes glinting. She meets my gaze with a slight inclination of her head, and leaves. Then, as if guided by some invisible Dalish Keeper, my companions begin scooping the earth back over Tamlen’s corpse. Leliana, Zevran, Wynne, and Alistair all gather around. Even Dog attempts to push some dirt into the hole with his paws, before deciding licking his paws is the more entertaining option.

  
Then I gather the sapling I found in the forest and press it back into the earth. It's an Andruil pine, named after the goddess of the hunt for its hardiness and its strong bark that we use to make our hunting arrows. A fitting tree for Tamlen, my fierce hunter friend.

And then my companions leave one by one, Zevran lingering and then departing as well with a squeeze of my hand, and I am left alone with the grave and the young tree.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The night is dark and cool outside of my tent, the moon just bright enough to illuminate Zevran’s angular face next to mine. We had gone to bed some time ago, perhaps hours, but sleep continues to elude me. Every time I close my eyes I see Tamlen’s mad, desperate eyes, empty of everything but the wild, animal desire to kill. I miss home, achingly. I miss Ashalle’s lovingly prepared turnip cakes, fresh off the stove-pit after a long day of scouting. I miss running rampant through the Brecilian forest with Tamlen, wildly whooping and scaring off birds we were supposed to hunt. I even miss Keeper Marethari, quietly chastising us for returning empty-handed, but with a wry look of knowing amusement on her face that I hadn’t noticed, or had ignored before now. Where would I be if it had been Merrill who accompanied Tamlen on that hunting trip? Our places could easily have been reversed, with Duncan saving and recruiting her instead. Would I still be that boy, running free through the forest with no burdens but the wind in my hair and the earth under my feet? But I brush off the thought. There's no use in questioning fate, after all.

“Mmm.” Zevran grunts drowsily, shifting in the blankets to loop a warm arm around my torso. “Still can’t sleep? It will be morning soon, _mi amor_ ,” he mumbles into my shoulder.

“M’ not tired,” I say, but my nonchalant tone sounds false even to my ears. Zevran is still, and then shifts to blearily study my face.

“Not tired, you say? Ah yes, I’m certain these lovely purple bags under your eyes are entirely intentional.” He lightly traces the thin skin beneath my eyes, fingers gentle and voice soft. “And the paleness of your face? Also intentional?”

“Yes, well growing up in a Fereldan forest does give one much natural protection from the sun. Not all of us were blessed with growing up in the radiant sunlight of Antiva city.” Zevran’s mouth twitches a bit, but his eyes glinting knowingly in the dim moonlight, undeterred. I sigh. “Well, what do you want me to say? I’m tired because I dream of the Archdemon’s face every night, reminding me of the impending doom of everyone in this country? I’m stressed because somehow it falls on me to save all these people? Or perhaps I can’t sleep because I just murdered my closest friend in cold blood?” My voice cracks at the last word and I turn away from Zevran’s too-intense gaze. I feel my face heat up from being so unintentionally dramatic.

“You didn't murder him, Warden, he was already gone. There is no sense in dwelling upon the matter.”

“I know, I know, there was nothing I could have done. But I can’t help dwelling on it.” I groan and rub my face with my hands. “I wish I was like you, and just accept things and move on. It would make things so much easier.”

“You...might be surprised,” Zevran mutters. I turn to glance at him, but he has already looked away. At my questioning gaze, he takes a sharp inhalation. “A discussion for another time, perhaps.” I peer closely at his features but he has retracted into his cool, impassive assassin mask. I trust his word, though; he'll tell me when he's ready, and no sooner.

We lie there for some more time, Zevran absently tracing patterns on my bare chest as his breath softly huffs against my neck. Beautiful, dangerous, sultry Zevran; gleeful as he gouges daggers into hurlock guts, even more gleeful making wild, fiery love in our tent (or wherever else he deems fit), and now lying peacefully in my arms, as gentle and quiet as a kitten. And suddenly I am enormously, unspeakably grateful for this crazy, fantastic man. Joining the Grey Wardens may have cost me my clan, my childhood, but I did get Zevran in return, and right now I'm pretty thankful for that.

“Zev?”

“Mmm?”

“I just--er--I wanted to thank you. For, um, everything. Today, I mean. Or I guess tonight.” I feel my face redden at the sheer enormity of my emotional ineptitude.

Zevran looks up and smirks, the bastard. “Your eloquence never fails to amaze me.” He pauses, his next words almost a whisper. “And I thank you as well, Theron.”

I snort and brush off his thanks. “For what, being a whiny, useless princess all night? There's nothing to thank me for.” At this Zevran’s gaze sharply flits to my own, clear eyes boring into mine keenly, almost harshly. It's a bit unnerving, to tell the truth. He looks...exasperated? Angry? Adoring? But it ends before I can fully realize it ever happened, and the familiar mischievous light returns to his eyes.

“Ah, but is a princess really so lean, and strong, and hard?” Zevran asks with a ferocious grin and a rude squeeze at my crotch that I most definitely don't yelp at.

“I really wouldn’t know, I don't go around feeling many prin--”

Zevran smothers my words with a deep, languid, bone-melting kiss, passionate yet gentle and filling my senses with the sultry honey taste of his mouth. And it’s everything I didn't know I needed, distracting me from my sorrows, but also saying he understands, he cares, and is showing me with his body what he can't with his words. For a blissful while, it's only me and Zevran, without a care in the world but the tastes of our mouths intertwined and the feel of our bodies languidly moving together underneath the blankets. Only the sounds of smacking lips interspersed with slight gasps, alone in the warm comfort of my tent in the middle of the Brecilian Forest. Only two lovers embracing, clutching each other like it’s the last day in this world, which it very well may be. Eventually the kiss dwindles down, both of us too exhausted to take it any further. Zevran again nuzzles into the crook of my neck and I press my face into his silky hair, feeling slightly less antsy than before.

  
Tamlen has left a hole riddling my heart, a gaping one that will likely never be healed. But at this point it is accompanied by a great number of other holes, and I’m sure many more will be made in the future, if I don’t die first. Tomorrow is a new day, and we could all die horrible, bloody deaths, or find the Archdemon and kill the dragony bastard, or maybe the darkspawn will tire of the whole killing and pillaging business and decide to peacefully retire to their cozy underworld homes. But I’m tired of thinking about the endless possibilities. For in this moment, I have my sanity, a campsite of trusted companions, and a beautiful, extraordinary man in my arms under the soaring trees of the forest, and for now, it’s more than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings, fellow dragon age enthusiasts, and thanks for reading! This is my first fanfiction ever, so any comments and criticisms are of course greatly appreciated :) I'm considering turning this into a multi-chapter full fic, but also, like, school n' stuff... Anyways, happy browsing of the interwebs!


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